Sau'ilahk knew these general details, and that the process was more complex in subtle ways—and that dwarves were fools.
To spend one's life, even one as long as a dwarf's, in such a pursuit was insipid. He had no interest in their superstitions or false divinities—compared to his Beloved. Only the final detail of the process mattered, the one thing that would make the Stonewalkers come.
A thänæ had to die.
And after all, was not this what they all wanted … if they wished to become false saints?
Sau'ilahk waited within sight of the alehouse, a place usually not sought for a "telling." As night dragged on, he memorized other passages along the tunnel, as well as the far end of his own leading back to this level's mainway. He had to be able to blink to the mouth of any one of them at will without line of sight. But not until dormancy threatened, warning that dawn was near, did he hear voices growing in the mainway.
People poured from the alehouse, their noise quickly overriding the indistinct murmur from inside.
"What a night!"
"I will be dead on my feet for the day, but it was worth it!"
"And I will relive that last tale unto my death!"
Exclamations and adoring claims mounted one upon another, as patrons headed off both ways along the mainway of closed shops. Finally, Sau'ilahk heard one voice that overrode all others … deep, sure, and arrogant.
"No, no, brothers and sisters, you've paid me enough drink for the next two tellings! Time for all to sleep. But I promise to share your hospitality again before I venture afar once more."
Sau'ilahk remained as still as a shadow, listening to Hammer-Stag. This one preferred wallowing with riffraff, those too ignorant to see through him. All to procure a name he hoped might last into eternity. How pitiful.
There was only one true divinity who could grant eternal life. Such as Sau'ilahk had prayed and begged for—and been given by his Beloved. But he had no time to mourn the bane hidden within that boon.
The thänæ turned the other direction down the mainway, and Sau'ilahk was forced to blink ahead of the bulky loudmouth by three intersecting passages. There, he focused on the life presence of his quarry, feeling Hammer-Stag's spirit like a breeze or running stream one touched but could not hold on to. He no longer needed to listen to the braggart's bluster.
Twice more he blinked down the mainway, staying well ahead, then again down a side passage the thänæ turned into. He watched Hammer-Stag's every turn, until the last of the well-wishers and sycophants went their own way.
Hammer-Stag was alone in the deep sleeping back ways under Sea-Side. He was still far down a passage as Sau'ilahk retreated from its other end.
Sau'ilahk hurried along the wider intersecting tunnel, and then stopped, quickly preparing. He would not take a dwarf directly. It had been a long time, but he remembered how difficult they could be. He had to put this one down before noise attracted attention. Sound carried far in these underground ways.
Sau'ilahk manifested one hand, making it solid long enough to snuff the closest lantern. He quickly began the first conjury, calling up its shapes not in the air but upon the tunnel's wall. He needed a powerful banishing.
Within his mind's eye, a glowing crimson circle appeared upon the rough stone, large enough to encompass him if stepped up to it. Another of pulsing amber rose within that one, followed by an inverted triangle. Sau'ilahk raised one incorporeal finger wrapped in frayed black cloth. He traced signs, symbols, and sigils between the shapes, his fingertip racing over the stone. Though no else could have seen, every mark burned phosphorescent.
Soon, all light reaching from down the tunnel toward him began to dim—not everywhere, but only within the great seal that only he could see. Lantern light from up or down the way faded within an expanding space bulging outward from the wall.
Sau'ilahk drifted in against the stone, poised at the center of his banishing circle.
To conjure the Elements, or construct the lowest of elemental servitors, took years of dangerous practice. Banishing was often no more than releasing them, if one did not make them last longer than willful attention. Dealing with the natural world was another matter. Banishing anything natural to the world was nearly impossible, always temporary, and not for dabblers.
Though the next and previous lanterns still burned in the tunnel, clear to see, their light touched nothing within the outward bounds of his pattern. Sau'ilahk stood unseen within a pocket of pure darkness that ate all light.
It was costing him, weakening him. Yet he had one more conjury to accomplish, as he heard the thänæ's heavy footfalls closing on the passage's exit.
As a spirit, Sau'ilahk did not posses a true "voice." Even in the brief moments he willed himself corporeal, as an undead he did not draw breath. When and if he spoke, it was by conjury, faintly manipulating any noise made by the air's natural movement. He now needed a true voice—one urgently familiar to Hammer-Stag.
Sau'ilahk put the heels of his palms together, one hand below and the other above, with fingers outstretched. As he sank halfway into the tunnel wall amid his pool of darkness, he forced his hands solid. Envisioned glowing glyphs swirled in a tiny whirlwind. He arched his hands, fingertips still touching, and those bright symbols rushed into the space between, as if inhaled by a mouth.
Sau'ilahk felt air shudder between his hands, until it became a dull, vibrating thrum.
Hammer-Stag stepped out of the passage into the tunnel, turning the other way without pause.
Sau'ilahk curled his fingers inward like claws. He opened his hands like a clamshell, fingers tearing at thrumming air as if prying open a mouth.
A woman's agonized shriek echoed along the passage.
Hammer-Stag halted and spun about.
He looked down the passage, eyes wide, and then the other way. When he turned back, apparently seeing nothing, he reached over his right shoulder. His wide callused hand gripped the battle-ax handle behind his head, but he did not pull it out.
Sau'ilahk rotated his grip, twisting the air between his hands.
A whimper rolled out of his pool of darkness, followed by a familiar terror-choked voice.
"Please … help … me!"
Hammer-Stag pulled the ax and gripped the haft with both hands. He lunged two steps and then paused with his brows furrowed.
"Who is there?" he growled.
Sau'ilahk's satisfaction grew. This was so predictable. He twisted his hands again, feigning the familiar voice.
"Fiáh'our … Hammer-Stag? It's me, Wynn … Wynn Hygeorht!"
The thänæ craned his neck, trying to see where she was.
"Little mighty one?" he breathed, then shouted, "Where are you?"
"Please help me! It's coming!"
"No!" he snarled. "I am! Call to me … I will find you!"
Hammer-Stag charged down the passage, straight toward Sau'ilahk. As he passed the place where no light reached, Sau'ilahk opened his hands. The patch of darkness died under the light as Sau'ilahk slipped out behind the thänæ.
Chapter 7
Wynn awoke the next morning feeling weak and rubbed her eyes. She found herself in the familiar trappings of her room at the temple. Vague, broken memories returned.
She recalled Chane helping her to bed, and Shirvêsh Mallet gently feeding her a bitter liquid. Her ill-used stomach still hurt, but her headache had dulled. She sat up and, to her surprise, felt hungry, not remembering the last time she'd eaten.
Shade lay at the bed's foot and lifted her head to whine.